


Out of the Darkness

by ionlyjoinedforfanfic



Category: The Free World (2016)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Harassment, Hurt/Comfort, Police, Sexual Content, Size Kink, false imprisonment, prison system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 05:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30117735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionlyjoinedforfanfic/pseuds/ionlyjoinedforfanfic
Summary: You and Mo are happy and trying your best to build a life together, that is all in jeopardy when the police come and arrest Mo.
Relationships: Mo Lundy x Reader, Mo Lundy x You, Mohamed Lundy x Reader, Mohamed Lundy x You





	Out of the Darkness

"It's alright, it's gonna be alright." Mo's quiet voice travelled across the chaos trying to soothe you. His blue eyes intently focused on yours, reassuring you that everything would be fine. It was difficult to believe him, not because you didn't trust him but because of the scene in front of you - him kneeled in handcuffs, surround by cops, crimson streaming from the cut above his brow.

The ramming of the door, the barrage of commands and the sting of the harsh light had ripped you from your slumber, and Mo from your bed. Disorientated, Mo had been manhandled and tumbled down the hall by the time you were alert enough to spring into action.

Mo's frame dominated the small living area, his bulk and strength on display as he threw each officer from him, one held by his throat in Mo's huge and powerful hands, another at the blunt end of a high elbow.

Furniture toppled, no less than four officers were trying to subdue your boyfriend, an image devastating enough though it was the sight of black metal being aimed which caused you to scream. Mo saw you, face streaming with tears, scrambling from the officer who was holding you firm at the waist. You suspected it was your fear rather than his own that caused Mo to surrender, chest heaving as the bloodied and bruised cop cuffed him, all but naked, only cotton boxers on the cold tile floor.

He was barefoot and near naked too when they dragged him from your home and forced him into the patrol car. Your throat raw from screaming, demanding to be told why they had burst into your home in the middle of the night and arrested Mo. They gave no answers, "He's a monster." and "He knows what he has done." was all they had said.

Mo wasn't a monster, he was a gentle giant, tender and sweet and innocent. Innocent when he was first arrested all those years ago, innocent for the 17 years he had been imprisoned. He had done monstrous things, he had to, to survive, they had been the one to create the creature and when Mo was shown another way he took it. They didn't care, they could only see a dangerous criminal, their judgements never overturned despite the evidence, tonight too would solidify their claims - forget that they had invaded your home, when you were vulnerable, that he was just protecting himself, protecting you.

You didn't sleep the rest of the night, sat knees pulled to your chest watching the clock, waiting for the Project Justice office to open. You explained what happened, they arranged a lawyer to meet with Mo and to sort the horrible mess out. You were still sat curled on the couch hours later when someone finally told you what was happening. Mo had been charged with assault on a prison guard from his time incarcerated, all discretions had been expunged because of time served but someone had got a judge to listen and it was going to be a few days before it would go to court. They reassured you it would be dismissed and not to worry but how could you not? Three days in a county jail was too much. The damage it could do. Mo could survive but at what cost. He had abandoned the monster, the cyclops that's what they called him, the fiend that had kept him alive had long been buried. The Mo you knew was reborn from pain and suffering, as weak and as vulnerable as a child. What wounds it could reopen? Put him in the dark place he had worked so hard to crawl out of.

Three days were torturous. You stumbled through them, eyes stinging and stomach churning, from lack of sleep and nourishment, from tears and worry. Your home empty without Mo. A giant of a man yet so quiet and still, no belongings to speak of meant you always thought Mo didn't impose on the space, joked it felt he didn't live there, but now he truly was gone and you felt it deeply. His hunched shoulders at the dinner table, long arm draped around you on the couch, his warmth next to you in bed. You couldn't wait to have him home, terrified it may never happen.

Three days later Mo was released without charge or any kind of apology. Linda had loaned you a truck so that you could collect him, it was the least she could do, not wanting to prolong his suffering a second longer than needed.

You sat in the heat for over an hour waiting, the sun high when the gates rattled open and Mo walked out. You nearly tripped running towards him, only stopped by a thick wall of muscle, arms thrown around his middle, cheeks wet from tears.

Mo stood still whilst you wept into his broad chest, his shirt wet when you raised your head, searched his eyes, unsure of what you'd find. It took a moment but there he was, your Mo climbing his way out of the dark to you. Lifting his large hands, he cradled your head, hands cupping your face and neck, his long fingers threading into your hair, his thumb stroking your jaw, he pressed his forehead to yours as your hand settled on his cheek drawing you closer, your fingers moving to play with his short hair.

"Let's go home."

Mo closed his eyes, sighed and nodded.

He was silent the entire ride back, you said little yourself, what was there to say? You reached over to squeeze his hand, he squeezed back. He followed you into your apartment, you had tidied any disarray. Nerves lead you to ramble, bombarding him with queries, did he want a shower or to sleep or would he like something to eat.

"I gotta pray."

Mo was home but you were left without him once more. You wanted so much to go to him, needed him beside you but it wasn't about you - he needed some space, time with his faith, his thoughts. He'd find his way to you in his own time.

You're making dinner when he appeared again, he poured himself a glass of water and gulped it, standing side by side with you at the kitchen counter. He guzzled it down, cleaned the glass and placed it on the drainer. Acutely aware of each action you tried to disguise it with busyness. He leaned against the cupboards and folded his arms, muscles and tendons defined. He watched for a while, then with your back to him, you felt the warmth of his fingertips on your hip, then his palm, the heat of his body as he stood directly behind you, whiskers pricking your shoulder.

"You hungry?" you try to sound upbeat, normality that's what you need, forget the horror of it all.

Mo shook his head, arms tightened around your waist as he pulled you flush against him, "Later."

You twisted in his arms to face him, reached to touch his cheek and then for the first time in days he kissed you. Cautious and gentle, he retreated after a moment looked at you for reassurance, for guidance.

"I love you." your voice soft but strong, for there was no doubt in your words. Tears glistened in his eyes, he tried to look away, he closed his eyes and shook his head trying to bury his emotions and any trace of weakness.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

You held his face more firmly, forcing him to look at you, "What are sorry for, there's nothing to be sorry for, you did nothing wrong."

"I thought it was over, it's never going to be." Try as he might tears did escape, confessions of pain, fell heavy like the burden he carried.

"Oh Mo," for you had no words to comfort him, so you held him and kissed his tear stained cheeks, "Come with me."

He followed you dutifully, closed the door behind once you'd made your way to the bedroom. You took the lead, you needed to - at the beginning of your relationship Mo was so unsure of everything, over time his confidence grew but this had knocked him down, he needed to know you still believed in him. You still wanted him. You tugged at his vest, pulling it up to reveal the flesh beneath, moved then to his sweats. Your fingers under the waistband, hands caressing his firm buttocks before pushing the bottoms down. Admired Mo's naked frame - the strength and mass of his muscle, not defined or chiselled, covered with softer flesh. You undressed before him, restoring equality by baring yourself. Holding his hand, you ushered him to the bed, so that he sat on the edge, guided his hands to your hips before straddling his lap.

Resting your hands on his shoulders, your lips lavished his skin with affection, pressed kisses to the scruff on his jaw and neck, rocked against him. Evidence of both your desire soon clear, but it was a different need that drove you. The physical act a manifestation of your love, a demonstration of affection, a craving of that most intimate connection. It wasn't to forget the horrors of the past days but to remind Mo and yourself of everything you had. The life you had built and shared so happily together. Mo felt it too. Soon he was inside of you, his hand spread across the small of your back, the other the nape of your neck, holding you to him, you bodies tight together. Your fingers carded through his hair, the short stubble at the back and the mess on top, tongue gliding over lips and tangling together. His actions less and less tentative, though you sensed hesitation still.

"I won't break." you gasped between kisses. 

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't baby, you won't."


End file.
